


Weekend Warriors

by Random_Nexus



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017 [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Paintball, Prompt Fic, Team Dynamics, Watson's Woes, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 04:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_Nexus/pseuds/Random_Nexus
Summary: John somehow gets Sherlock to join with Greg and a number of the other Yarders in a 'team-building exercise'.Written For The Prompt: "The prompt for July 17,2016was: A Team Effort: Teamwork saves the day, or not." -Watson's WoesJuly Writing Prompts





	Weekend Warriors

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a fill for another prompt from 2016, in place of one of the 'old prompts' from this 2017 run of July Writing Prompts, and I'd made some preliminary notes on what I'd wanted to do with it back then, so just had to use those. Got it all done in a day, so woots! \o/ It's a bit silly, but I hope some of you like it. I've stolen some characters from canon, as well as harking back to an OC that went over well in a former JWP "[First Impressions](http://www.dreamwidth.org/users/random_nexus/251238.html)" [[AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4324509)].

John was up bright and early on the day, wearing his most worn denims, a stained jersey that had been a freebee at some sports bar event, and his oldest trainers. With the addition of a slightly tattered old baseball cap he had no idea how he’d acquired, John just about skipped out to the kitchen to make eggs, bacon, toast, and tea. He even whistled while he cooked, breaking into humming now and then just for variety.

“My god, you’re disgusting,” croaked Sherlock from down the hall as he shuffled to the kitchen doorway in the sheet from the bed. 

“But useful,” quipped John with unrelenting cheer, waggling the spatula at Sherlock in greeting. “Best get in the shower if you want your breakfast still hot by the time you’re done.”

“Nngh.” Without anything more approaching actual language, Sherlock went into the loo and the sound of the water running came shortly afterwards. 

John made Sherlock’s tea only after he heard the water being shut off again, adding extra sugar and milk out of pure kindness. 

When Sherlock re-appeared in nearly-new denims, a long-sleeved ‘Property of St. Bartholomew’s Hospital’ t-shirt John had bought him a few birthdays back, and pristine black trainers, John gave him a sceptical look with a little sigh. “You know that’s all going to get filthy and probably stained before the day’s out, right?”

Sherlock shrugged and took a big drink of his tea. Shrugging in reply, John tilted his head in a philosophical manner and got on with finishing his breakfast while Sherlock poked and nibbled at his own.

“Cheer up; we’re going to have a great time.”

“Nngh.”

~~~

“Are you insane?” Sherlock growled as soon as Greg Lestrade finished his outline of the plan. 

Greg and John both gave him nearly identical brows-up looks, but it was Greg who asked challengingly, “Names in a hat’s always done us well enough. I suppose you’ve got a better way, then?”

“Of course I do. You, John, and I will work together; Donovan, Dimmock, and… the other one… can form another group.” The last words were accompanied with a vague flapping hand gesture in the general direction of ME Anderson, as if he were shooing away pigeons from a bench or something. Greg’s lips twitched and John outright smiled.

“What about McFarlan and Jones, then?” Greg asked when John said nothing. DS McFarlan and DI Jones had been recruited almost at the last minute when Molly Hooper and Tobias Gregson couldn’t make it.

“Who?” Sherlock murmured disinterestedly as he examined the various types of paintball guns on the nearby folding table. 

John rolled his eyes, elbowed Greg and said, “I think it would be more equal if we had McFarlan, then.”

“Who’s McFarlan?” Sherlock asked more interestedly, apparently John making a decision warranted his attention. 

“The new kid,” Greg replied, tilting his head at the red-headed woman chatting with DI Donovan and DI Jones in the shade of the small building about a dozen yards away. 

“Ah, DS Hetty. Yes. She’s on our team,” Sherlock announced firmly with a decisive nod and then proceeded to ignore Greg and John once again as he continued to pick up and examine the eye and face shields laid out next to the walkie-talkies further along the table. 

“Right.” Greg shrugged as he spoke, sharing a bemused headshake with John before making a few more marks on the clipboard he carried, and then strolling over to the loose cluster of people loitering about in the early morning sunshine.

~~~

Although Sherlock was his usual bossy self, he grudgingly relented to John’s superior tactical experience. Hetty seemed delighted to be not only included in the game, but on their team; she and John already hitting it off very well since working together on several research projects in the past year. 

“So, I’d like Sherlock and myself on the attack,” John said during their ten minute confab before the game began, and Hetty… um, how about you go for the flag? Greg, you’d be defending ours.”

“No,” Sherlock said curtly.

At almost exactly the same time, Hetty winced in pre-apology while saying, “I’d rather not?”

Greg and John looked at her, ignoring Sherlock for the moment. 

“I wouldn’t think you’d want to be stuck defending, because… eh…” John hesitated, not wanting to sound sexist when trying to explain how he was trying not to _be_ sexist.

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly and cut in. “John’s trying not to do the typical male thing of relegating the lone female to a position of perceived safety—guarding our flag—but he’s missing the fact that you would make a splendid guard for the flag, as you’re a trained marksperson.” All three of the people who were not Sherlock stared at him in varying shades of surprise. He frowned at them. “What?”

“You can just call me Hetty, you know,” Hetty said after a second with an amused smile. 

“How did you know she’s—” started Greg, but Sherlock cut him off.

“Aside from all the _obvious_ clues in her behaviours and on her person,” he intoned impatiently, “when John suggested this ridiculous waste of a perfectly good Saturday last week, I looked up everyone’s ratings with any and all firearms on which they were certified. I already know John is an excellent shot with stationary and moving targets, as well as when he, himself, is in motion. I would be considered the next-best in general marksmanship, and then you, Gavin; however, Hetty is easily on par with John, possibly better as a sniper, and she is an avid climber. The rest should be plain as day.”

“It’s _Greg_ , as you know perfectly well,” John said, still unable to fully hide his amusement, and turned to Hetty. “Up to you, Hetty.”

“Defense,” she replied immediately with a grin. “Definitely.”

“Okay, then,” John said with an easy smile. 

Greg rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Long’s we don’t lose, I’m good.”

As they all turned to settle their gear and get ready, Hetty held up one hand, palm out, to Sherlock. John tried not to wince, because Sherlock was simply _not_ the ‘high-five’ sort, but just as he was trying to sort out how to apologise to Hetty on his partner’s behalf, Sherlock blinked a few times, opened his mouth in a silent ‘aha’, and slapped Hetty’s waiting palm with his much larger one. 

Both John and Greg shared a ‘what the heck?’ sort of look before silently agreeing to smirk and say nothing aloud. 

Moments later, the three-minute warning air horn sounded in the distance. 

“All right, guys,” Greg said quietly as he slipped on hi safety goggles and patted the ammo tank for his gun, filled with little red balls. “Let’s paint the town red.”

The rest of the team groaned, John actually punching Greg in the arm, but Greg just chuckled gamely.

~~~

Hours later, tired, sore, sweaty, and mostly grinning, the group once more stood around the folding table to return the gear before leaving the team-building facility’s grounds. DI Dimmock, DI Donovan, and DI Jones all had a few splatters of red paint on their padded vests and a couple of limbs, while ME Anderson looked as if he’d been in a brief hail of red paintballs, as well as at least two blue smears—his own team’s colour.

Greg bore a blue paint smear on his right thigh and a bit left of centre in his stomach area, John had a streak of blue across the outside of his right biceps, and neither Sherlock nor Hetty had a single bit of paint in either colour on their persons, though Sherlock’s gun had a double splash pattern on the side—he’d used it to bat away a shot each from DI Jones and DI Donovan, one of them aimed at John. The blue flag was tied to Greg’s belt, as he’d managed to capture it before receiving his ‘fatal gut wound’ from DI Dimmock. 

“Right, then,” DI Jones called out cheerily as he pulled his goggles off, his dark hair standing partially on end afterward. “I believe we agreed that the losers buy the winners lunch… or early dinner, whichever.”

While most of the red team cheered, Jones’ own team groaned a bit, but it seemed mostly for show. John and Greg high-fived each other, and then Hetty offered them each a hand to slap, as well. With an absolutely straight face, Sherlock fist-bumped Hetty as if it were some solemn ritual; to her credit, she held out till they stepped away from one another to break into a silly grin.

“What’re you lot having, then?” asked Donovan, arms crossed as she leaned one hip against the table.

“Fish and chips,” suggested Sherlock—though it sounded like a decision. 

“Ooh, I could definitely go for that,” Greg commented. 

“Yeah,” Hetty seconded, nodding.

“Right, who’m I to argue with a genius and the Yard?” John offered with a shrug and a smile. “Fish and chips it is.”

Sherlock looked pleased, nearly smug, and pulled out his mobile. “I’ll text you all the address for one of the best chippies in London.”

With a ragged chorus of approvals and random commentary, the two teams finished unloading their paintball gear and moved off toward the main buildings and the car park. 

Greg was enough of a sportsman to wait a full week before uploading to the NSY intranet the videos he’d captured of the players’ various stumbles, gaffs, and face-plants, as well as Anderson being ‘murdered’ by members from both teams while hanging upside down from a tree in which he’d been trying to hide.

 _Somehow_ the video of Anderson got posted on YouTube. It went viral in a few hours and was still getting likes and comments a full two years later.


End file.
